


if i was a fool to love you, then i'll remain

by zora (nico_neo)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst and Feels, Break Up Talk, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Miscommunication, Not actually falling out of love, Post-Break Up, Sharing Clothes, they’re hurting but they’ll be fine I promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:48:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27897814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nico_neo/pseuds/zora
Summary: Before, he would have cradled Atsumu into his arms, kept and held him close and whispered sweet nothings into his ear while dropping kisses into his bleached hair until the setter would calm down.But they’re not like that anymore.
Relationships: Komori Motoya/Miya Atsumu
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	if i was a fool to love you, then i'll remain

**Author's Note:**

> The result of [lia's](https://twitter.com/kuroy4ku)  
> and I's brainrot about Komori wearing Atsumu's sweaters... it started cute but then the angst hit and I dunno what happened cuz I usually never write angst but guess it was convicing and inspiring enough eh :> thanks to her again for helping me through this \o/
> 
> I listened to used to be and dust and gold by Arrows to Athens while proofreading and I think it fits so feel free to listen to them as well!
> 
> I also hesitated to make this a two part fic... But I think a longer one chapter fic can be cool too :3 (truth is, i think that the transition between what was supposed to be the two parts isn't that good to be the start of another chapter so meh)

Komori didn’t know when it started happening, but it definitely did happen, at some point. Probably when the weather started to get colder and colder. Or, maybe it was even before that, when the sun was still shining and warm and wasn’t replaced by grey clouds and frigid winds, yet. 

He didn’t even realize it was happening. But, choosing between wearing his worn out hoodie or eyeing Atsumu’s new one, neatly folded in his wardrobe, the choice was quickly made. Bonus point, because Atsumu was taller and a little bit broader than him, so the fabric was maybe a size too large on him. Perfect, more warmth and freedom in his movements. And the sweater paws were a delight to his cold fingers.

Atsumu hadn’t realized at first, immediately taking him in his arms when Motoya came out of the bedroom and pulling him to the small kitchen counter so they could have breakfast. 

Usually, Komori would have come down to Osaka with Suna. But, this time, Motoya had done the journey alone. Rintarou didn’t have to come to Osaka anymore, since Osamu had opened the Tokyo branch of Onigiri Miya, and was now residing in the loft above it. Same way around for the twins, when it was their turn to visit on their days off. Atsumu now had to make the trip alone, and Motoya received more than one text of the setter complaining about how boring the ride was without someone to bother. 

Atsumu only noticed the familiarity of the red sweater Motoya was wearing when they dropped on the couch to watch the new season of the Netflix series they’ve been watching for a while now, _The Crown_. Atsumu spent more time checking if the facts and events they saw on TV really happened than he spent time watching the episodes, but Komori let him. Watching the blonde smile proudly when he confirmed the truthness of the events was definitely endearing. 

“I’m going to become unbeatable in England’s history and the Royal Family’s affairs,” he said, putting his phone away on the armrest before wrapping his arms back around Motoya’s body. The setter dropped a kiss on the brunette’s hair, then stilled for a second. “Motoya-kun?”

Komori hummed, too engrossed in the episode to speak.

“Is that my hoodie?” Atsumu asked. 

Motoya didn’t even bother to spare a glance at the said hoodie. “Yeah, thought it’ll be warmer than my old one.”

The choked up noise that Atsumu made at the back of his throat didn’t go unnoticed, but Komori didn’t say anything, simply smirked where he knew Atsumu couldn’t see him. If Atsumu’s arms also tightened around him, he didn’t comment on it either. 

When later in the day, while Komori had his back turned to Atsumu as he was making coffee, Atsumu posted an Instagram story of Motoya with the caption: _HE STOLE MY HOODIE WHO GAVE HIM THE RIGHT???_ with a shit tons of emojis, Motoya only reposted the picture in his own Instagram story with the caption: _Took you a while to notice. By the way, I’m keeping it ~_. A few seconds later, he heard the complaint coming from behind him.

“You can’t just steal my hoodies like this!” Atsumu whined, closing his phone. 

Motoya put his cup of coffee before him with a smirk.

“Want to bet?”

“Not fair, Toya-kun.”

  
  


Maybe the peak of Motoya’s newfound activity was reached during the month of December. Days off turned into weeks off, for the holidays and even though they spent them with their respective families, that didn’t stop them from seeing each other the rest of the time. They even went on a double date with Osamu and Rintarou, once. 

In between time spent with Atsumu and his friends, Komori managed to get his cousin out for some cousin bonding time, to Sakusa’s dismay. Because, maybe Motoya talked a lot about Atsumu. A whole lot. Well, Kiyoomi’s fault for pointing out his choice of oversized clothes. If he didn’t want to know why Motoya was buying oversized stuff since he started dating Atsumu, then he shouldn’t have made the point in the first place. It’s Kiyoomi’s fault, not his.

“One day I stole one of his hoodies because mine was really old and it was freezing cold, and I was right to say I’ll be warmer wearing Atsumu’s. So, now, when I don’t wear his clothes but mine and they’re oversized, it reminds me of him, you know?”

“No, I don’t and I don’t want to.” Kiyoomi grunted. Then, more silently. “God, where is Suna when I need him.”

“See? You two love us so much you speak about us when we’re not here.” Komori grinned.

“He’s the less annoying one between the four of you. He understands what a pain you all are,” he insisted on his last words, glaring at Motoya. “Individually _and_ together.”

“Now, now, that’s being rude, Kiyoomi.” Motoya’s grin didn’t falter. 

Atsumu wouldn’t even question it anymore. Motoya will just pop up from behind him and ask him if he could lend him a sweater and Atsumu would comply. He thought he could ruse Komori, the amateur. 

“Can I borrow one of your sweaters?” Motoya asked, padding barefoot into the bedroom with only his underwear for clothes. 

Atsumu tried really hard not to stare at his boyfriend’s defined abs and muscular thighs, filled with red marks, but as usual, he would fail.

“Come on, nothing you’ve never seen,” Komori teased. And if he changed his footing deliberately, it’s only to see the gulp of Atsumu’s adam apple.

“Do you need one right now?”

Motoya grinned and crossed his arms, hips moving forward with his movement. Atsumu’s eyes shot down then immediately back up.

“We just finished and you’re already eager to get back to it? Can’t a man catch a break?”

“You’re one to speak,” Atsumu mumbled, rummaging through one of his drawers. He got two sweaters out, a light yellow one and a pink one. “Here.”

Komori wasn’t a newborn rabbit, and immediately knew which one was the worn out piece, and which was the brand new. So, when Atsumu handed him the pink sweater, Motoya grabbed the yellow and pointed to the pink fabric.

“Good, you put this one and I’ll put this,” he slipped his head into the collar before Atsumu could retort. Atsumu only blinked. “I’m sure pink will suit you.” Motoya added, grabbing the setter’s face and planting a kiss on his lips.

Komori didn’t remember when putting on (stealing) Atsumu’s hoodies and sweaters began. He didn’t remember when Atsumu started spamming his comments section on Instagram whenever he would post a picture and he was accidentally (purposely) wearing one of them.

_“Toya-kun is this my sweater?”_

_“I THOUGHT I LOST IT BUT IT WAS YOU ALL ALONG!”_

_“You’re so cute, why are you so cute”_ and lots of crying and heart emojis.

Yeah, Komori didn’t remember when it all happened. He didn’t remember when he started seeing Atsumu less because days off were never coming. He didn’t remember when he started to stop adding newly stolen sweaters in his wardrobe. He didn’t remember when the sweater started smelling less like Atsumu and more like him because they didn’t cuddle with Atsumu anymore. He didn’t remember when the daily texts and calls became weekly texts and once in a blue moon calls. 

Was it before or after the Olympics? Motoya didn’t know. 

Was it during the Olympics? Motoya didn’t know. 

During lockdown? 

Atsumu didn’t seem to know either. Motoya didn’t remember the last time they held each other’s hands, or the last time they kissed. They didn’t talk, maybe they should have. But maybe fear was also stronger. If Atsumu was building another life without him, then maybe it was better not to know, right? Kiyoomi called him an absolute moron. Apparently, he also called Atsumu that. But it wouldn’t have changed anything, would it?

Motoya didn’t remember when he started stealing Atsumu’s clothes, but he did remember perfectly when he had to give them back. After a home game for EJP. Atsumu had slept at Komori’s place. They haven’t talked, they should have. Atsumu wasn’t even looking at him, so why should have Motoya tried? The decision was already made. In the morning, before Atsumu had to leave to meet with his team to go back to Osaka, he stopped in front of Motoya. Told him they should stop, that it wasn’t going anywhere to stay like this, distance and busy schedules didn’t help. Atsumu never gave a reason. And Motoya didn’t bother to give one either. When Miya asked for his sweaters and hoodies back, Komori had just nodded, not trusting his voice to speak, and emptied his wardrobe. They parted ways with a goodbye, but no last glance.

Suna didn’t say anything the next day at practice, so if he knew something Komori wasn’t aware of, he never said it and acted like every other day. Motoya busied himself with receives and sets. Some blocks too, just to pass time, and Suna didn’t complain about extra and Motoya was glad to know that even if silent, he would always have a friend in Rintarou.

Now, Motoya’s closet was devoid of any sweaters that weren’t his own, but, like a bitter reminder, all his clothes were a size too large, and didn’t smell like gold and sunshine anymore.

  
They had a game against MSBY. Home game for the Jackals, so they had to get in Osaka in the morning for their match in the late afternoon. MSBY and EJP hadn’t faced each other since… for a long time. Komori didn’t really remember. 

“Do you want to go with ‘Samu and I?” Suna proposed. _So you will, you know, have moral support when you’ll see Atsumu again for the first time_ is what he didn’t say but Komori could easily guess. “So you don’t have to take the train.” was what he said.

Motoya scowled, fakely annoyed. “And support you two?” he scrunched his nose. “I’ll pass.”

Rintarou scoffed and shrugged, bidding him goodbye. “Your loss.”

EJP won. And, perhaps Komori made sure to receive Atsumu’s serves twice as much as usual. Maybe even more than his cousin’s. Or, mayhaps it was a hidden bitterness, a lost resentment.

As usual, they went out to a local bar with the members of both teams. Komori didn’t really plan that at first, he forgot in between team celebrations were even a thing. Or, he simply forgot he’ll actually have to be in the same room as Atsumu again, and not across a net. 

It wasn’t that he wanted to avoid Atsumu; you can’t avoid Atsumu Miya, no matter how hard you try. Motoya didn’t even block his number when they broke up. No, he didn’t want to avoid him. He was just… afraid probably. But, it’s not like he will need to interact with him, anyway. Even though, deep down, he wished he could talk to Atsumu again. Still, he couldn’t act like nothing happened, that they didn’t hurt each other, now matter how hard they were trying to avoid the question.

Except that, apparently, luck and Mother Nature weren’t on his side. Because when Komori finally managed to get ahold of Rintarou in the mass of people to tell him he was going back to the hotel was both the moment Atsumu decided to leave too, but also the moment the sky thought it was the greatest idea to empty his water buckets on them. 

Result, Motoya was standing in front of the bar, drenched and cursing every bird name he knew under his breath. And Atsumu was standing behind him, protected under an umbrella. Motoya thought, when Atsumu passed him, that the setter was going to keep on walking his way but, to his surprise, Atsumu stopped in front of him. Koomori looked at him, surprised.

He saw Atsumu bite his lip, droplets falling from his umbrella, he looked like a character from a movie. The rain embraced him. He was shining despite the dark sky. Like he always does. A bright sun in the dark night. 

“My apartment isn’t far from there,” said Atsumu, softly but his voice still carried out despite the heavy rain. “If you want to put on some dry clothes,” he pointed to Komori’s soaked jacket and pants. “I can wash them for you and you can wait until they dry to go back to the hotel,” he scratched at his head. “With an umbrella too, maybe.” he chuckled.

Motoya, before he could think better of it, uttered a soft “sure.”

Atsumu offered him a tight smile and handed the umbrella to him, so it could protect them both.

The silence in which they both walked the small trip to Atsumu’s apartment was tense, almost suffocating. It was clinging to Motoya’s skin, even more uncomfortable than his wet clothes. Despite it all, Motoya missed having Atsumu’s shoulder brushing with his, and the warmth radiating off his body in waves and crashing on his skin.

Motoya missed Atsumu. And he hoped that, mayhaps, Atsumu missed him too.

He came out of the shower wearing a beige hoodie and old grey sweatpants. The hoodie was unfamiliar. And it seemed new. It made Motoya’s heart clench, memories flooding his mind. 

Atsumu was seated on his couch, scrolling on his phone. Komori could hear the washing machine running, probably with his clothes inside. The setter smiled at him when he sat next to him, feeling warmer than he was five minutes ago. Both from the shower and from the newfound feeling of having Atsumu close to him.

But, it didn’t make the tension falter, didn’t make the silence less awkward, less heavy.

Motoya was playing with the hem of the sweater when the words fell out of his lips before he could monitor them. “I remember when I stole all your new sweaters. You always wanted to give me the old ones but the new ones were warmer so I always ended up stealing them at some point.”

It came out casually, but Motoya could feel the bitterness at the back of his own throat, filling his words. He didn’t expect the comment to come out in the first place, but the hurt that has enveloped his heart ever since he stepped foot into Atsumu’s apartment - or was it since he saw Atsumu before the game? - was suffocating. 

But what he didn’t expect either was for Atsumu to curl on himself and start crying into his hands once the words are out. 

Motoya freezed next to him, eyes glued on Atsumu’s trembling shoulders. He could feel the hurt tighten against his heart, for a different reason, this time. He didn’t know what to do.

Before, he would have cradled Atsumu into his arms, kept and held him close and whispered sweet nothings into his ear while dropping kisses into his bleached hair until the setter would calm down. 

But they’re not like that anymore.

He didn’t know where they stood, what the boundaries were, and what he could cross. It’s just another painful reminder to Motoya. 

In the end, he just stayed there, sitting next to Atsumu who was crying his heart out, doing nothing because he didn’t know what he was allowed to do or not. The stings at his own heart had never hurt so much.

When Atsumu took a deep breath and straightened up to look back at him, Komori is sure the brown pupils with hints of gold in it are just a reflection of the hurt in his own eyes. 

“Do you,” Atsumu croaked out, voice hoarse and still flooding with tears. “Do you really not give a shit about how I might feel? Saying this so casually like I never tried so hard to forget about you?” 

The sadness overcame any anger Atsumu directed at him. But it didn’t stop the jab from hurting. Hurting way more than seeing Atsumu crumble down next to him.

And Motoya could only look at him and say: “But me, I never tried to forget.”

It left Atsumu without an answer, eyes wide and mouth open. Motoya didn’t see any utility in putting up a mask. Or raising the walls back up. Maybe it was time to be; to finally be honest. With both himself, and Atsumu. If Atsumu wanted to be honest as well, then Motoya would listen to him. But it’s tiring, always pretending you were okay; pretending that you were okay all this time when you never really were.

Motoya knows Atsumu is trying to process the implications of what he just said, of what he had just thrown at him without any warning. Just like the services Atsumu threw his way during matches. Perhaps, Atsumu is also wondering if Motoya had still loved him when and after they broke up. If he still loved him now. It’s driving Atsumu crazy, not knowing, assuming then grounding himself to _not_ assume, Komori could see this.

Because that’s the same inner turmoil he’s going through.

Eventually, Atsumu’s gaze dropped to his hands, and he licked his lips before speaking. The only thing, a simple question, that came out of his lips and made everything crumble down was: “Do you still love me?”

And Motoya could only smile tiredly when he met golden eyes again. “Does it even matter now?” he asked, exhausted.

He meant it. Did it matter now? To the point they were, did it still matter? Did it still matter if yes, Motoya still loved him? Did it still matter if Atsumu still loved him too? Will it even change anything.

Was the question worth an answer if it was just going to hurt and not heal?

But then, Atsumu looked at him again with the same tired face. Because everything Atsumu tried to build up just came crashing down. And so did every defense Komori tried to erect around himself. 

“If I say that I’ve never worn the sweaters you gave back to me ever once because it still smells like you, does it matter?”

Motoya could only clench his jaw and blink the tears away. He didn’t know. It was unfair. What mattered anymore? He didn’t have an answer, and if someone had it, then give it to him. Because he didn’t know. He _didn’t know_ what mattered anymore.

As they both kept silent, the realization dawned on both of them. And Komori realized that, as much as he had still been back then and still was in love to this day with Atsumu; so was Atsumu. 

The what ifs were suffocating, all of sudden. They flooded Motoya’s mind with scenarios that could have but never happened. It’s suffocating. He’s suffocating. 

Was Atsumu unable to breath too?

Komori was enclosed in so much unsaids and revelations he didn’t know how to word out. 

So, he stayed silent. 

“I thought…” Atsumu’s tiny voice, way too tiny for a man his size; a broken cry. “I thought you were falling out of love with me. And I didn’t want to realize that you indeed were… if it was even true. And since you didn’t seem to,” he cringed. “to care about it, I just… decided that growing a distance might be for the best. Until it hurt too much and I thought that letting you go completely would hurt less. And you didn’t fight it so…” and he shrugged.

Motoya scoffed, offended. “I didn’t care?” he repeated, perhaps a bit too loud in the heavy tension surrounding them. “Then I could say the same for you. We didn’t talk anymore and it didn’t seem to bother you that much. So, I didn’t say anything either. But I had the hopes that you weren’t building a new life without me and that you’ll eventually come around when you’re ready. But you never did. You only asked to give you back your belongings and left,” he said, disdainful. But most of all, hurt. “And you never told me why.” Motoya added, a whisper in the cold air around them.

Atsumu’s breath stuttered, and he probably would have snapped, and Komori would have too, if it wasn’t for the libero’s phone.

It was Rintarou.

Motoya mumbled a “sorry” and accepted the call.

“You’re alright?” was the first thing Suna said when heard Komori picking up. 

Komori hummed. “Yeah, m’fine.”

Rintarou didn’t comment. “Change of plans, we’re going back tonight instead of tomorrow. There’s a storm coming up and it’ll be worse tomorrow in the morning, Coach wants us to go back now so we can avoid getting stuck in Osaka for an unknown amount of time.”

“When do we leave?”

“In ten minutes, in front of the hotel,” Rintarou yawned. “Is that alright for you?”

Ten minutes. The walk from the bar to Atsumu’s apartment was five minutes, and since it was in between the hotel and the bar…

“Yeah, ten minutes’ good.”

It’ll leave him some time if… if Atsumu ever wanted to finish this conversation. Whatever it was. 

Suna hung up after muttering an “alright”. Motoya turned back to Atsumu, who was picking at his nails while waiting for him. Komori wanted to tell him he should scratch at his skin like this.

Against all odds, it was Motoya’s hand who separated Atsumu’s. Not his words. The setter looked at him with wide eyes, like a deer caught in headlights.

“Don’t pick at your nails,” Motoya just said, for a justification. “How are you going to set the ball at its best if your fingers are fucked up?”

It earned him a small lift of his lips from Atsumu. Motoya let go, feeling like holding the setter’s hand a second longer would be crossing a boundary he’s already crossed too far. 

He walked slowly backwards, towards the door, not too fast to make it look like he wanted to flee, to finally breath. No, slow enough for Atsumu to stop him if he wanted to.

Maybe, deep down, Motoya wanted Atsumu to stop him. 

But Atsumu only got up from his couch and followed, accompanied him to the door. Motoya didn’t know if he really expected something, in the end.

Always what ifs. 

When he crossed the door’s frame, he turned back. Took in Atsumu’s looks. The red color his eyes had gained after crying. The haunted look in his pupils. The way said eyes didn’t seem to be able to look at him. 

Until, with a newfound courage, Atsumu looked at him. Looked at him properly, just like Motoya had been looking at him all evening, and held his gaze. 

He’s silent, they’re both silent, for a second, two seconds maybe. The silence is broken by Atsumu, straightened up, squared and proud shoulders. 

“I,” his voice wavered a little, but he hid it behind a cough. “I’ve always hated what ifs.”

Motoya could feel his heart burn. It hurt, but beneath the burn, there was a small cold snow breeze, not powerful enough to extinguish the fire, but enough to make its flames falter a little. Healing. 

He tried to smile, despite the pain, despite the burn. “Let’s get rid of them, then.”

And when Atsumu smiled, a real smile despite his watery eyes; a smile Motoya had never known he missed seeing so much until he _finally_ was able to set his eyes on it again, the fire was cool to touch. It didn’t burn as hard as before. 

He smiled back.

“I have a day off next week. Coach told us to rest before starting the training for next season,” Atsumu started. Komori saw him take a deep breath. Their eyes never left each other. “Do you… Do you want to grab coffee? I’ll be in Tokyo, going to annoy ‘Samu a bit.” he chucked, though it was held back, not really confident like Motoya is used to hearing him. 

He nodded. “I’d like that.”  
  


It was only on the train back to Tokyo that Motoya realized he was still clad in an oversized hoodie and old sweatpants, his own soaked clothes forgotten at Atsumu's apartment, together with the chance for a proper talk, but it didn't feel like another what if, or a closed door, at all.

The sound of the rain tapping against the train window sounded more like a beginning. 

Like a "we'll get there", maybe.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading if you read this far ! \o/ 
> 
> Comments and kudos are my serotonin boost!
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/bokutowantsyou)  
> [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.qa/bokutowantsyou)  
> 


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